Chapter 7
Being the bearer of bad news
The story so far: Annie and her gran, Branwen, find themselves not just running the Spa at Crystal River, but also at the scene of a murder! Phil, famous professional golfer, is found dead on his golf course by Branwen and her friends. Frank Lauton, Sheriff, is on the scene.
The clubhouse was noisy, the air tense with speculation and chatter interrupted with the hiss of the espresso machine. The smell of warm pastries met Annie’s nose—someone working one of her old jobs, pulling espressos and pouring coffee. She hadn’t been here since she’d quit working here.
From behind, Gabriel’s voice caught her by surprise. “I had the employment records digitized and saw you started working here in middle school.”
“Yes.” She met Gabriel’s eyes and her heart sank. He was unaware of who lay on the green, yellow tape around him. “Do you,” her voice cracked, “know what happened out there?”
“No, I was on a business call when Frank cleared the course. But from the ambulance, I was assuming someone got sick?” He scanned the crowd. “I see all the regulars…”
Just then, Frank walked in. He gave her a raised eyebrow, and her heart sank further as she realized this was the moment Gabriel’s life changed, never to be the same. “I’ll let Frank talk to you, and I’ll check in with you later about, well, everything. The marketing meeting can wait.” She had the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to comfort him. She didn’t, as Frank was right there, beginning his official notification. Gabriel was like a son to Phil, the heir to his beloved golf course, his legacy.
What a morning, she thought. As she headed to the parking lot, she stopped at Gabriel’s office door. That should have been hers, but today, this moment, was the first time she was sincerely glad it wasn’t.
Back at home, Annie heard voices in the kitchen; she walked through to see Gran and Katherine at the table with Cindy and Janice. Tears and laughs flowed, and Annie understood why once she saw the counter. “Decided to make those coffees Irish, did we, ladies?” She walked to the pantry and pulled out a container of scones. She sat them on the table, hoping the carbs would help soak up some of the Irish liqueur.
“I’m off to work, Gran,” Annie said, giving a wave. No time for coffee, much less the kind Gran and Katherine were enjoying as they shared grief and memories. She pondered the salacious stories Katherine would be telling as she headed to work.
As Annie headed to the golf course at Branwen’s urgent request, Lilly was running errands, unaware.
Lilly drove into Crystal Valley to pick up the herbal formulas for her clients at the herbal apothecary in town. She yearned for an apothecary of her own, but the next best thing was visiting Olivia.
On the main square in downtown Crystal Valley, Olivia’s store had a glass front window painted with the shop’s name, Crystal Clear Botanicals, in large flowing script and below it in smaller script: Apothecary, herbs, spices and beauty products.
The French blue awning above it sheltered merchandise and customers from the intense high-altitude sun and matched the French countryside theme, complete with whitewashed wooden furniture and photos of fields of lavender and sunflowers. White shelving held jars of loose herbs, divided by provenance: Asian, Ayurvedic and Western herbs. In view of the windows were Olivia’s best-selling herbal products — incense, soaps, shampoos, lotions and bath soaks.
Olivia greeted her in bright pink glasses, her long, shiny black hair braided, her white apron crisp.
“How are you, Olivia?” she asked as she handed Olivia a pastry box.
“Outstanding, Lilly, how about you?” Olivia reached over the counter for the box. “These aren’t…”
“Yep, your favorite scones. I appreciate all your help, being the herbal pharmacy for the Spa.”
Olivia smiled and said, “No worries at all. It’s good for the shop.”
A customer waved from a few aisles away; Olivia looked longingly at the scones before heading over.
A lone gentleman stood with his back to her. Lilly stood on tiptoes, thinking she recognized him, when he turned and looked at her. She walked over to him.
“Afternoon, Lilly.” The man was unsteady on his feet, his well-tailored clothes loose on his body.
“Hi, Joe. It’s good to see you. I just sent you an email, and it seemed to forward to your personal assistant. How is your treatment going?”
“As well as can be expected,” Joe sad flatly.
“Are you well stocked with your herbal formulas?”
“I’ve got two more weeks’ worth.” He gave a wan smile, with cheeks that had once been fuller and less wrinkled. “I’ll give you a call soon.”
“You could come to the spa, Joe. Get a gentle lymphatic massage for the pain.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. Have your personal assistant call and get an appointment.”
The door opened again to a group of tourists laden with shopping bags. The phone rang, and Olivia walked by Joe and Lilly to answer it, giving Joe a quick, “Nice to see you again, Joe. You’re getting to be one of my regulars.”
She smiled at Joe. “It’s good you’re trying some of Olivia’s products.” She pointed at the cobalt blue bottle Joe gripped between his fingers. “That’s her best pain liniment. I love the smell, too.”
Joe half-heartedly lifted the corners of his mouth, but failed. Lilly patted his arm and turned to Olivia.
“Could I get my formulas when you have a minute?” she asked. Olivia pulled a key off a hook, and the two of them walked to the large, locked cabinet full of compounded herbal formulas in sealed bags, as well as special orders, for individual clients. One of its polished wood-grain doors had a sign that warned, “Not for retail sale: do not open.” Underneath, in a smaller sign in the same script, was “Ask us for a referral if you are interested in a personalized herbal formula.”
Olivia unlocked the doors, opening them to neat rows organized alphabetically by patient initials.“Wow, Olivia, you’ve been busy. These shelves are full.” The earthy aroma of dried plants — roots, barks, leaves — billowed out as if eager to travel through the shop.
Olivia nodded. “Yep, the autumn rush. Kids are back in school, people are catching up.” Olivia consulted a clipboard and pulled paper bags full of herbs, handing them to Lilly after she checked them off her list.
Lilly placed all the formula packages in a basket and headed to the front. She passed Joe standing, unmoving, his gaze unfocused, as he looked out the storefront window. He held a jar of liniment, a large bag of ginger candies and a small brown paper bag of meadowsweet, angelica and Jamaican dogwood foot soak that she and Olivia both recommended for his pain.
“Okay, Joe?”
“Fine. Making sure I got everything.” His eyes looked at Lilly’s pile. Another attempted smile as Joe took two halting steps toward the counter, then a shatter of glass as he dropped the blue bottle. An aromatic oil spill quickly spread across the storefront.
“Oh, no!” He backed away from the oil and shards of glass. Olivia dropped her clipboard on the cabinet and hurried to Joe, who was shuffling with unsteady steps away from the oil. “No worries, Joe. It won’t take me long to clean it up, and we’ll grab you another bottle. ”
Lilly placed her basket on the floor, away from the oil. “I’ll help. Towels?”
“Yes, thank you.” Olivia threw her a couple from behind the counter, then joined her with a broom and dustpan.
Joe continued to shuffle back; other customers resumed shopping. The strong liniment smell—deceptively festive with its wintergreen and rosemary—filled the room.
In a matter of minutes, the oil cleaned up and a “caution: slippery: sign folded open over it, Olivia tallied Lilly’s purchases.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Lilly turned, looking for Joe, who was nowhere to be seen. He’d disappeared while they cleaned the spilled liniment; maybe he’d just gone home. “Joe’s gone. I’ll call him tomorrow, make sure he’s all right.”
Olivia gave a knowing smile. “He’s been coming in every few days for little things: teas, liniments, lotions. I think it’s an excuse to get out. He may show up later, after the air’s cleared.” Olivia grinned. “Pun intended.”
Lilly laughed and walked out, greeted by the rustling of the cottonwoods scattered around downtown: a wonderful autumn day. Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen: she’d missed a call from Annie. Lilly stood in shock as she read the text readout of the message.
What?
Phil?
Time seemed to stop for a moment while her brain wrapped itself around the words. Phil was dead, and it looked like it was murder? She felt nauseous.
Phil was partially retired by the time Annie inherited the Spa property, so they hadn’t gotten close as neighbors, but Phil was a part of the town. They hadn’t been close — women close to Phil were those he had been , were currently, or would be involved with romantically. She’d never been the slightest bit interested in being one of Phil’s ladies. But the idea of someone being murdered, just across the road from the Spa, made her stomach swirl.
Hand pressed to her stomach, she walked as smoothly as possible to her car, then collapsed against the door. She dropped the bag of herbal formulas on the hood and put her hands on her thighs, head down, trying not to vomit.
Murder.
When the urge to throw up was over, she pulled out her phone to call Hugh.